


that i, a particle of love

by malkinisms (hannibalisms)



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Platonic Soulmates, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 22:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2167179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalisms/pseuds/malkinisms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sidney grows up hearing about the types of soulbonds, and every time someone gets gushy about them Sid just rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was that he was doing.<br/>Does he want a bond? Yeah, of course, but - after hockey; only after hockey. Some of the guys are already bonded, and that’s awesome for them. Sid likes all of their bondmates, they’re all awesome. But for Sid, it’d just be something else to distract him from the game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	that i, a particle of love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nebulia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nebulia/gifts).



> based on something nebs said to me - i had said "the best part of werewolf aus is writing the platonic snuggling. tell me another trope where there is a ton of platonic snuggling" and nebs said "platonic soulbonds. boom."
> 
> challenge accepted, my friend.
> 
> see all the parts on tumblr:  
> [one](http://malkinisms.tumblr.com/post/82341612248/nebulia13-replied-to-your-post-the-best-part-of)  
> [two](http://malkinisms.tumblr.com/post/82448050895/nebulia13-replied-to-your-post-the-best-part-of)  
> [two point five](http://malkinisms.tumblr.com/post/95236812674/nebulia13-replied-to-your-post-the-best-part-of)

_Любовь? Что такое любовь?_ — думал он. — _Любовь мешает смерти. Любовь есть жизнь. Все, все, что я понимаю, я понимаю только потому, что люблю. Все есть, все существует только потому, что я люблю. Все связано одною ею. Любовь есть Бог, и умереть — значит мне, частице любви, вернуться к общему и вечному источнику_. Мысли эти показались ему утешительны. Но это были только мысли. Чего-то недоставало в них, что-то было односторонне личное, умственное — не было очевидности. И было то же беспокойство и неясность. Он заснул.

"Love? What is love?" he thought. "Love hinders death. Love is life. All, everything that I understand, I understand only because I love. Everything is, everything exists, only because I love. Everything is united by it alone. Love is God, and to die means that I, a particle of love, shall return to the general and eternal source." These thoughts seemed to him comforting. But they were only thoughts. Something was lacking in them, they were not clear, they were too one-sidedly personal and brain-spun. And there was the former agitation and obscurity. He fell asleep.

L.N. Tolstoy, _War and Peace  Война и мир_

* * *

> _2006_

Sidney grows up hearing about the types of soulbonds, and every time someone gets gushy about them Sid just rolls his eyes and goes back to whatever it was that he was doing.

Does he want a bond? Yeah, of course, but - after hockey; only after hockey. Some of the guys are already bonded, and that’s awesome for them. Sid likes all of their bondmates, they’re all awesome. But for Sid, it'd just be something else to distract him from the game.

Sometimes he feels a little alone, without bondmates. The teacher that came to Shattuck to tell them about soulbonds said that, sometimes, some people can feel the space where their bondmates should be.

Sid thinks he can.

It’s just a little empty space, something that doesn't feel - right. It makes him upset, when no one else is around.

He knows it makes him standoffish and a little unkind, at times, but - sometimes, it  _aches_ , that he hasn't found someone yet, even though he hasn't gone out of his way to try and find them.

He’s jealous of his teammates that found someone so quickly; it’s all a matter of being compatible, he knows, and it’s not like that  _one person_  is destined for you. It’s just brain chemistry and happenstance. When he sees Max and Flower reassuring each other, he just gets  _unreasonably_  upset, which is dumb, because they’re both his friends.

It’s just … Sid wants that, too, even if he keeps telling himself to wait until after hockey to take off the magnetically charged band around his wrist that deters bonding.

Sid knows that when they’re not calling him "Sid the Kid" they call him "Iceman" because he’s notoriously quiet on the subject of bonds. There are other players that still wear their bands, but since Sid is a favorite target, well, it just continues.

> _2007_

His band breaks early into the 2007 season.

He can’t - it snaps right in half, and there’s no  _way_  he can fix it and there’s no way that he can get a new one quickly. He’d have to go home to get one, because he would want the same one, which came from a jeweler by his parent’s house, so - he can’t.

"Is ok, Sid," Geno says, and sets his hand on his shoulder. "Get new one, soon, yes?"

Sid makes a little broken noise, and Geno’s fingers tighten and release.

"Will be  _ok_ , Sid,” he repeats, and goes to get ready.

Sid wants to believe him.

After the game, Mario sits him down at the dining room table and gives him a long look.  ”I think you should try living without the band for a little.”

Sid can feel the color drain from his face, because this means - this means he might  _bond_ , this might mess with his hockey, and the thoughts tumble through his head too quickly to make sense of them.

"Just until the end of the season, maybe," Mario continues, "because I know that you aren't comfortable without it, but I honestly think that you should give it a chance, Sidney."

Sid doesn't  _want_  to give it a chance. He really, really doesn't, because it’s not on his terms, and that’s never good, and he doesn't want his control taken out of his hands.

But - he  _trusts_  Mario, more than he trusts himself, so he says, “All right. Ok.”

* * *

It’s fine until December.

It’s fine until they play the Capitals, and he shakes Ovechkin’s hand, and one of the little empty spaces in his heart fill up until it’s overflowing.

"Oh," he says, and clutches at Ovechkin, who can’t seem to let him go, until Orps shoves at Sid’s shoulder to get him to move.

"Fuck off," Ovechkin spits, and Sid thinks it’s directed at him until he gets pulled against Ovechkin’s chest.  He should be - he should - get away from him, because they’re still on the ice, and surrounded by fans, but - but.

Sid should be upset, that he’s being hugged on ice by a rival, but instead he just feels kind of … content.

"Come on, off the ice," Sid hears, looks back to see Therrien gesturing back to the tunnel, and Sid lets himself be skated over, essentially, and then trails along after Ovechkin, still holding hands, until they’re in the locker room.

Ovechkin tugs at Sid’s sleeves, scrutinizing his wrists, and then looks down at Sid. “Not wearing band.”

"It broke," Sid says faintly.

"Hmm," Ovechkin says, presses his fingers into Sid’s pulse point like he’s counting the beats of his heart. "Never thought would take this long for other bond."

Sid’s not really paying attention, but knows that Ovechkin’s already bonded romantically to someone; he doesn't keep up on that kind of thing, but maybe he should.

"Is it always like this?"

Ovechkin laughs, and Sid can hear a hint of unkindness, but it’s more like - amusement that Sid’s so flabbergasted by the situation. “First time, yes. Like a second brain, a second heart; your mind goes into overdrive to figure it out.”

"Uh huh," Sid mumbles, closes his eyes, because he can  _feel_  Ovechkin in his head, just a faint thing, like a secondary thought, but when he gets close to it, when he really thinks about it, the connection  _blossoms_.

Ovechkin’s - Alex’s - head is a jumble of Russian and English, hockey plays, things Sid can’t understand. He knows that Alex is amused, faintly pleased, kind of off-put by how this hadn't happened before; he’s hungry, too, and his shoulder is bothering him (Sid thinks that he should get it looked at, and Alex’s responding thought is the mental equivalent of a scoff).

"Hey," Alex says, and Sid pulls back, because it’s  _easy_  to roam around Alex’s head and touch things. “Sneaky, Sid, pick my brain.”

"Sorry," he says, and mourns the loss of Alex’s hand on his wrist.

"Is ok, but we figure out boundaries tonight," he says, cuffs Sid on the shoulder and smiles. "I go change, then we talk. You take me to your house, like a good bondmate."

Alex leaves before he can protest that he lives with Mario, but it’s futile, really, because Alex’s made up his mind. He pushes the thought at Alex to get his shoulder looked it, ends the thought with exclamation points, and Alex sends back the equivalent of an eye-roll.

He can feel Alex puttering around the locker room as he does his thing, and Sid has a hard time not paying attention to him as he gets undressed himself.

Geno nudges him with an elbow. “Ok, Sid?”

Sid hums his assent, smiles a little. “Yeah, G, I’m all right.”

* * *

Alex is warm. Like, really,  _really_  warm, and even though Sid hates people touching him, Alex doesn't … suck.

He doesn't push, he doesn't demand, he doesn't do any of those things. He takes what Sid gives him, and Sid tries to do the same. Sid knows that he’s a little demanding and that it can’t be  _easy_ , but Alex takes it with a smile.

Mario had sighed and told Sid that they would need to have a talk, but Alex was charming and full of smiles and had bullied his way up the stairs and into Sid’s little attic apartment before any more had been said.

Ugh. Whatever. Sid can’t even manage that normally.

The panic has started to set in, though; this is someone that he’ll have to play against, that he’ll have to hit into the boards and shit, and Sid doesn't know if he can do that, because feeling Alex warm and happy at the edge of his mind is  _intoxicating_.

And, and! He’ll have someone else in his head all the time, eavesdropping and listening, and Sid can’t stand being in his  _own_  head sometimes how can he expect anyone else to deal with this. He doesn't want Alex to hear the things that go on in his head, because they’re manic and overly loud and frightening.

But - at the same time - he can  _feel_  Alex not really paying attention, looking around at Sid’s home, smiling at the pictures on the wall and looking out the window.

"Do you - do you want a drink?" Sid asks, clenching his fingers inside his pocket where Alex can’t see how tense he is.

Alex turns around and looks him up and down, and ok, maybe Alex is paying more attention than he thought, because he just sighs and approaches Sid like he’s a skittish animal.

"Is ok, Sidney," he says, the second time he’s said Sid’s name tonight, and he crosses the room to wrap his arms around Sid’s shoulders and Sid wants to protest,  _wants_  to throw a tantrum and scream and stomp around and fight this, but Alex is - Alex is  _his_.

Like, it’s the first thing in the world that belongs to Sid, really, this little fledgling connection in his brain, and no one can take it from him, no one can make it go away. It is his and his alone.

(Sid knows that Alex’s bondmate probably thinks the same thing, but she has a different connection with Alex; this one is  _Sid’s_.)

Sid curls his fingers into Alex’s jacket, presses his nose into his chest, and sighs.

"There," Alex murmurs, "see? Is good, like this. On ice, still play each other, but off - bondmates, friends, family. Can relax, Sid."

"You’re not going to steal plays," Sid says, feels stupid for it, but when Alex laughs he relaxes because he can really  _feel_  how amused Alex is, not offended or anything.

"First rule: no stealing hockey thoughts unless invited," Alex says, pinches Sid on the side, "gotta keep your reputation intact."

Sid grumbles but relaxes into the hug. That’s what it is, there’s nothing else to call it. Sid doesn't really like hugs, but he’s kind of required to like Alex, and - it feels nice, anyhow.

"Hey. You have movie channels?"

"Yes?" Sid makes it a question.

"Let’s watch movie," Alex says, leads Sid over to the couch and pulls him down so that they’re sitting side to side, Sid squashed against him.

He doesn't protest.

* * *

Halfway through the movie, Alex’s phone rings and he answers it. The flare of happiness in his head makes Sid think that it’s Alex’s partner, and the name floats into his head -  _Maria._ Alex doesn’t get up, though, just pulls Sid a little closer.

He wonders if Alex is trying to reassure him that he has a place here with Alex, even though Maria was there first, and arguably has more of a claim to Alex than he does.

He tries not to eavesdrop on Alex’s thoughts, but it’s hard to filter him out. It’s mostly wordless emotions, anyway, so Sid doesn't feel so bad about listening in, as it were.

Alex is warm around him, the hand on his left shoulder drawing little circles. It’s soothing, and Sid’s so tired; he’s drooping slowly, and when Alex leans a little and rests his head on Sid’s, well, who can blame him for falling asleep?

* * *

He wakes up with Alex draped over his back, snoring.

He panics for a minute, hot and sour on the back of his tongue. It wakes Alex up with a jolt, and then Sid remembers, and Alex huffs into his shoulder when he flops back down.

"Scare me," Alex mumbles, "was sleeping good, and Sid is worst alarm clock."

"Sorry," Sid responds, tries to tamp down his racing heart, but it won’t - it won’t stop, because this is new, this is  _so new_ , and Sid doesn't do _well_ with new.

"Hey," Alex says, tugs Sid close until Sid can feel the beat of his heart against his back and his concern buzzing in his head. He lets Alex take it from him, just a little, until his breathing is back to normal and he doesn't think that he’s going to throw up. "Sorry, Sid."

"No, it’s - it’s fine."

"Lie," Alex says, "I can feel that is lie. Worst liar, no poker face, Sidney Crosby."

"You’re  _cheating_ ,” Sid grumbles, but smiles when Alex laughs.

"I am allowed to cheat, I am bondmate, it’s what I do," Alex tells him, nudging his nose behind Sid’s ear. "But, if you don’t like to do this, we won’t. I understand."

Sid squirms around in Alex’s arms until he can roll over and tuck his face under Alex’s chin. He wants to say it, but - he doesn't want the words to spill out in a torrent. He’s so  _scared_  of this, so he just kind of - pushes weakly at the barrier of Alex’s mind, and Alex lets him in so Sid can tell him.

He pushes his emotions - scared, worried, nervous, but he’s happy, so happy, and he feels  _right_  now, with Alex in his head. He feels partially complete, like a piece of him has slotted into place. He likes being like this, likes knowing that Alex doesn't want anything from him aside from what Sid’s willing to give. He likes that Alex doesn't try to step into his head, but he likes that Alex is still  _there_.

He doesn't like people touching him, but he likes it because it’s his  _bondmate_ , and it’s all right. It’s good.  He likes how he fits in Alex’s arms, but Alex doesn't make him feel particularly small or weak like some people tend to do.

He can feel Alex’s understanding, warm and sweet, and he can feel his happiness that Sid’s willing to try this.

He burrows a little more into Sid’s blankets, tugs them up around their chins, and whispers into Sid’s head.

_Sleep_ , he says, and Sid does.

> _2009_

Sasha drinks off his glee of winning the Stanley Cup.  

When Sid gets the Cup, he makes sure that Sasha and Maria are there, and Sid  _gives_  it to them. The look on Sasha’s face as he takes it in, slides through Sid’s drunken mirth, will be a moment that Sid will always remember.

He doesn't begrudge Sasha his sadness that it’s not  _him_ , but - he knows that he’s happy for Sid, that he can’t stop from being infected by Sid.

Maria laughs at them, doped up on Sid’s win, fits into Sasha’s other side perfectly. He can feel her, faintly, through his and Sasha’s connection, but it’s just a shadow of feeling.

He doesn't mind when Sasha tips his head up and presses a kiss against his mouth, because it’s not - it’s not like that, for them. For some pairs, it might push boundaries, but Sid’s learned in the time that they've been together.

He learns what it means to be allowed to be close to someone, what it’s like to wake up with someone asleep in the back of his mind.  He’s learned about being able to depend on someone, to trust them, to give them what you might keep for others.

He learns about how  _strong_  a connection can be, and how weak, and how you can fight it.

He learns how to shut Sasha out if he needs to, or how to spread their connection wide and let him wade around Sid’s memory.

He’s learned about how Sasha is effusive with affection with those that he’s closest to - so, Maria, and Sid, and his family - and doesn't hesitate to seek Sid out, cuddle him close, until Sid’s feeling better.

He doesn't hesitate to tug him down next to him, Maria on the other side, buss kisses against his temple until Sid’s giggling and squirming, warm with Sasha’s pleasure.

Sid’s learned that it’s okay to press against him in the kitchen, take comfort from Sasha and the closeness of their connection. He’s learned that Maria doesn't mind it, either, when Sid needs attention. She uses Sasha’s connection to him to figure out what he needs, can comfort him until Sasha can get there.

It’s unusual, for them to be able to do that. When Sid had asked about it, he was told that only pairs that were strongly bonded could accomplish three-way sharing; being able to do more is almost unheard of.

"If is hard to do, Sid will do," Sasha had muttered, and Sid had pinched him so hard he bruised.

(Maria just laughed about it, and said that Sasha had probably deserved it.)

He likes being able to keep his eyes closed in the early dawn, open their connection a little, and let Sasha’s dreams lull him back to sleep.  He likes being able to sense when Sasha checks in on him, makes sure that he’s happy and well.

He likes it, being a part of something like this.

(He swears Sasha to secrecy about their three-way link, but Sasha just says, “Who am I gonna tell? Ruin everything for me, I’m not  _stupid_ , Sid.”

Sid doesn't talk to him for two whole weeks, shuts him out completely, at least until Sasha shows up on Mario’s doorstep looking haggard and wan.

He flops down on top of Sid where he’s watching movies on Mario’s couch and Sid protests loudly for a moment, until he starts feeling kind of bad and opens the connection again.

Sasha floods him with apologies, because it’s stupid, he’s stupid, he  _knows_  what privacy means to Sid, and he shouldn't have made fun of it; he knows what being like  _this_  means to Sid, and he - he doesn't want to ever give that up.

Sid apologizes, too, because he shouldn't have shut Sasha out like that, but - it  _burned_  that Sasha would say that, that he would trivialize what was important to Sid really bothered him.

Sasha smothers him for a little while, until Sid gets hot and cranky on the couch, and they switch; Sasha lets Sid nap on him, fingers tangles in his hair, until Mario wakes them up for dinner.

The kids look at Sasha sideways, confused about why a  _Capital_  is in their dining room, but they’re still nice to him.

Sasha spends a few days in Pittsburgh until he needs to go back to Washington. It’s nice. It’s good.)

> _ 2011 _

2011 dawns bleakly.

He gets hit playing the Caps, and brushes off Sasha’s concern; he doesn't need his worry slick and cloying in the back of his head.

When he gets hit playing the Lightening, he knows that something’s wrong.

Nothing’s right, nothing meshes, it’s like - like his head is filled with water, or something, and he  _knows_  that he can’t play.

He knows.

He spends two days in bed, eating saltines and with the shades drawn, doesn't want to move or think or talk to anyone, because he  _knows_  that he’s going to be out.

He doesn't shut Sasha out, but it’s a near thing.

He doesn't want to hear Sasha’s thoughts about hockey, or his concern, or have him ask if he should come to Pittsburgh on FMLA; he doesn't want to talk or be babied or deal with pity or platitudes.

He answers texts when he needs to, but otherwise he doesn't want to talk to  _anyone_.

He finally talks to Mario two weeks into his injury, still pissed off, still sick to his stomach half of the time; Mario tells him that it’s okay to be upset about it, that he  _gets_  it, and Sid knows that he does.

He knows that Mario’s right, but it doesn't make it any easier.

* * *

Sasha shows up halfway through the fourth week of being out.

He doesn't even knock, just comes through the door to the garage with suitcases in tow, grumbling and snarky.  He puts his things in the guest room closest to Sid’s bedroom, but Sid knows as well as Sasha that he’s going to be sleeping in Sid’s bed until he’s happy that Sid’s not falling apart at the seams.

He is, but - only a little, and only when no one can see.

"You can do that, with me," Sasha says, petting over Sid’s brow as Sid lays with his head in Sasha’s lap, trying to ignore the pounding in the back of his head, "that’s why - that’s why we  _have_  this, why it happens. You and me, Sid, just like me and Masha.”

Sid doesn't stop himself from rolling over and pressing his face into Sasha’s stomach until he falls asleep.

Sid tells him that he’s going to fuck with his career, that he’ll ruin it for himself, that he can't  _do this_ , but Sasha just rolls his eyes.

"Sid more important right now," he says, "you think I won’t do same for Masha? I would. A million times, I would."

If it makes Sid a little weepy, Sasha’s not going to tell.

* * *

Sasha leaves when Sid assures him that he’ll let him know if he needs something, he  _promises_ , and Sasha holds him to that.

Sid keeps their connection wide open after that, at least so Sasha can hear him, but not so much so that he can hear Sasha loud and clear. It makes his head echo and shake, like a bell being rung over and over and over.

Sasha’s only gone a few days when Geno gets hurt.

Sasha comes back.

* * *

He’s not allowed to see Geno for a few days after the surgery, because Geno’s cranky and still getting used to the painkillers and Sid understands that - he knows how Geno feels.

The two of them go to see him, and the first thing out of Geno’s mouth is an apology.

Sasha shushes him and they talk in quiet Russian as Sid huddles next to Sasha, his head aching and his heart, too, because he wanted Geno to be able to pick up where he left off, bring another Cup win to Pittsburgh.

He doesn't listen in, because this is private, this is something that he doesn't need to hear. He and Sasha still have secrets, because that’s the way it’s meant to be.

"Gonna go and make Zhenya soup," Sasha says, squeezes Sid’s shoulder, and eaves them alone.

Geno doesn't say anything for a long while, and when he opens his mouth, Sid has to cut him off.

"If you apologize to me," he says, "I won’t fucking accept it, because you don’t have  _anything_ to be sorry about.”

Geno shuts his mouth.

"Good," Sid says, "don’t be stupid, G. Nothing - you didn’t do  _anything_ , okay?”

Geno nods and bites at his lower lip, playing with the edge of the blanket covering his lap. “Feel like - feel like letting the team down, because I can’t play.”

"Jesus, Geno," Sid breathes, leans forward a little even though it makes his head pound a little because he needs Geno to  _understand_ , “you’re not letting  _anyone_  down. It could have happened to any of us, okay? It’s shitty, and it sucks, but it happens. Don’t - don’t beat yourself up.”

"Pot kettle black," Sasha calls from the kitchen, and Geno laughs a little while Sid scowls.

"He’s a traitor," Sid hisses, and Geno laughs again but it turns into a groan as it jostles his leg.

"Shit, careful," Sid says, reaches out to take Geno’s hand and squeeze.

It feels - it feels like a million fireworks go off behind his eyes, an instant of pain, like the snap of a rubber-band, and then - shit, it’s  _Geno_ , it  _is._

He’s clutching at Geno’s hand, short nails scrabbling at the skin on the back of his hand and he knows that he’s gasping with the feeling of being  _full_ , being complete and whole and finally,  _finally_ , right.

Sasha comes staggering into the room, hits the door frame, sets his hands onto Sid’s shoulders to ground himself. “What happened?” he says, shaking himself a little, trying to make sense of things. _  
_

Sid can’t answer, doesn't  _want_  to answer, because it’s  _Geno_ , it’s Geno and it  _always_  has been and he refuses to believe otherwise and he doesn't even care that it’s making his head feel like it’s splitting open, because he can feel both Sasha and Geno where they belong.

"Oh," Sasha says, urges Sid up off his chair and around Geno to slouch down on the couch next to him.

Sid can’t - he  _can’t_  wait, stretches up and slants his lips against Geno’s, and Geno opens to him, mouth and mind.

Geno’s hand is at his jaw and Sasha is pressed against his back, and Sid doesn't care that his head is aching, because he’s  _bonded_.

This is his.

* * *

Sasha gets Sid into bed - into Geno’s bed - and the room in twilight before helping Geno to the same place.

"Going to sleep in guest room," he says, presses a kiss to Sid’s temple and then does the same to Geno, because he can, because he’s Sasha, "wake me up if need me, okay?"

Sid sends him thanks and warmth, and it makes Sasha smile.

He turns the light off when he goes, leaving the bathroom light on but the door nearly shut, just enough light to see by.

"Geno," he whispers, tangles his fingers into Geno’s shirt and finds Geno’s hand with the other; he presses messy kisses to his palm, because he doesn't want to jostle Geno’s leg trying to kiss him again.

"Bondmate, Sid," Geno says, pressing his thumb against Sid’s lower lip, letting Sid kiss his fingertips. "Never thought - never thought would find. Touched you  _so many_  times, never bonded.”

"I know," Sid says softly, speaking against Geno’s fingers, "I don’t think - I wasn't ready. Not for Sasha, not at the beginning. Maybe now - maybe now I am ready for it."

Geno doesn't say anything for a long time, but Sid can hear him breathing in the dark, just like he does on the road. He’s not asleep, but thinking, and Sid waits for him.

"Not have it any other way," Geno whispers finally, "Sid is - has always been important to me. Always."

"Oh," Sid says, scoots a little closer, close enough that he can feel Geno’s breath on his face. "You’re - you’re so important to me, too, Geno. You’re my  _best friend_.”

"Sid best," Geno says, and it makes Sid laugh.

Where Sasha was always loud in his head at first, Geno is quiet at still, but then - Geno’s always had a little bit more control than Sasha. Sid prods at the connection a little, and Geno opens up, just like Sasha did.

Geno’s all flowing thoughts and warmth, memories popping up like fish jumping out of a river.  It’s smooth and sweet, and Geno doesn't try and make him see anything.  He just lets Sid in, just like he did when he first came to play hockey with Sid.

He waits, waits, and then Geno slips in to his own mind, and he can  _feel_  Geno being careful and sure so that he doesn’t make Sid feel worse, make his head worse (though he doesn’t think that’s possible, and when he thinks that, Geno just smooths over the thought, reassures him).

With Geno and Alex, it’s - it’s good. It can’t possibly be anything else.

He doesn't want to be anywhere else, and doesn't want anyone but them to be with him.

The thought makes Geno roll out waves of happiness and pleasure, and  _shit_ , that needs to happen for the rest of their lives.

It will happen, he knows.

It will.

> _2012_

The first time Zhenya can touch him - without his head pounding, without his skin crawling from sensation that isn’t his, without the feeling that he’s going to either pass out or throw up - it’s in the middle of the lockout.

Sid  _should_  be back in the meetings between the players and the owners, but. He’s clear to  _everything_ , with no side-effects, no pain, nothing. He  _needs_  Zhenya, needs to be there with him in Magnitogorsk, needs to watch Zhenya play, even though he can’t play himself.

  He catches the first flight out that he can manage, makes it to Moscow and in time to catch them play [HC Spartak Moscow](http://www.spartak.ru/) at Sokol’niki Arena. He isn’t noticed, not until the end of the second period when he cheers Magnito as they come off the ice, and Zhenya’s head whips around and finds him in the stands.

Zhenya pulls someone over to him and Sid  _knows_  that Zhenya’s going to have him fetched, so he just gathers his things and waits. Sure enough, someone comes and finds him.

He follows, of course, because Zhenya’s flashing gold and silver in his head, wordless excitement and pleasure, not even trying to make words or speak to him.

He barely makes it into the tunnel and out of the media scrum, cameras flashing and reporters shouting, before Zhenya’s gathering him up and pressing kisses to his skin, laughing and saying his name.

"Sid,  _Sid_ ,” he says, presses his nose against Sid’s temple, and Sid knows that this is picture that will grace the front of whatever newspaper, but their bond is old news.

(Sid still gets pissed about that, how the paps took the picture of the four of them - Sid and Zhenya, Sasha and Masha, curled around each other - and sold it to every paper, every sports blog, until the Pens called a press conference and had to reiterate that yeah, if you can play,  _you can play_.)

"Zhenya," he says, and smiles when Zhenya grins hugely, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of his face.

He feels like home and warmth and happiness, surprise and delight, and Sid loves that he can make Zhenya feel this way - that  _only_  he can.

(Ok, so can Nealer, but - that’s different, and creepy to think about.)

"You sit in press box," Zhenya says, curls an arm around his shoulders, "but first, say hello to team, ok?"

"Of course," Sid says, leaning into him; Zhenya’s even taller than normal in his skates, when Sid’s not wearing his. Sid loves it.

* * *

They win, and Zhenya says it’s because Sid’s a good luck charm, but Sid knows that it’s simply because the team can play.

"Have two day break," Zhenya says on the flight back to Magnitogorsk, murmuring into Sid’s ear.

"Oh?"

_Worst,_  Zhenya says,  _worst tease, worst._

_Not teasing if I’m going to follow through,_  Sid replies, and shows Zhenya what he means - Sid on his back, his knees, Zhenya balls deep and stretched over him.

Zhenya makes a little wounded noise and his fingers bite into Sid’s leg for a moment before he lets go, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

"Completely clear?" Zhenya asks aloud, focusing intently on Ahonen’s head in front of them.

“ _Da_ ,” Sid says, “ _mne khorosho._ ”

Zhenya is all incandescent purple, delighted and gleeful that Sid’s still practicing his Russian, trying his hardest to speak his language rather than relying on his constant translation in his head.

Sid leans closer, lips almost brushing Zhenya’s ear, and whispers, “ _Mne khorosho, ryadom s toboy._ ”

Zhenya closes his eyes again, and the images he sends Sid are  _obscene_.

* * *

Zhenya hustles him to his apartment without at coaxing on Sid’s part, ignores Sid’s inquiry about if they’re going to go see his parents first.

The look Zhenya sends him in the back of the cab is  _scalding_ , and Sid can feel his face pinking, how the blush spreads down his neck and chest.

All of a sudden, Sasha barges in, all questions and  _Sid in Russia? Why you not tell me?_  and then jealousy/indignance/amusement/pleasure because of course Sasha’s outraged that Sid and Zhenya were in Moscow and didn't come to see him (never mind that Zhenya was playing, that Sasha is playing for a [rival team](http://www.dynamo.ru/)).

"Nosy," Zhenya murmurs.

Sid can only soothe Sasha so much before he catches on, and when he figures out why Sid’s in Russia -  _is this BOOTY CALL? Sidney Crosby, on a booty call, I tell your mother,_  - which Sid knows he won’t do, but it’s funny all the same.

_I’ll come and see you later_ , Sid asserts, and Sasha feels better in his head, sweet and calm. Sid knows that he’s happy for them, burrowing into their shared pleasure and joy, and Sid can’t believe that he has this, after  _so long_.

* * *

Zhenya stretches him out on his bed, and Sid moans as he settles down over him, just like Sid has wanted. They’re not even undressed and Sid is  _so hard_ , wants Zhenya so badly that he can taste it on the back of his tongue.

_Patience_ , Zhenya tells him,  _I’ll take care of you_.

They share a language inside their heads. It’s not English, not Russian, but just - he knows exactly what Zhenya means, and he knows that it’s the same the other way. Inside their minds, there’s no mistaking meanings.

Zhenya lets him sits up, balancing on his knees over him, and helps him get off his suit jacket and shirt until he’s bare-chested.

_Love this_ , Zhenya says,  _all of this, for me. I love it. I love you._

Sid knows that he’s blushing red hot and that it’s all over his chest and shoulders, but he knows that Zhenya  _likes_  seeing Sid like that.

"You too," Sid says, plucking at Zhenya’s buttons, letting his fingers smooth up his chest and into the vee gap between his collar, "I want - please."

He can’t finish a sentence, because he wants Zhenya  _so much_  that his hands are trembling. Zhenya takes them from his shoulders and holds them for a moment, then presses his lips against every fingertip, tongue darting out to lick at the whorls of the ridges of his fingerprints.

_Calm down_ , Zhenya chides, and Sid lets it calm him, even though his blood is boiling and he feels like he he doesn't get to touch and be touched soon, he’s going to  _die_.

"Pff," Zhenya laughs, "so melodramatic," but all the same, clambers off the bed and strips carelessly down to nothing.

Sid’s seen him naked so many times, both in the locker room and in their bedrooms, has seen Zhenya get himself off, fingers curled around his cock, has wrapped his own fingers around him, gotten his mouth on Zhenya’s cock, but this - this is  _different_.

Sid can’t get out of his pants fast enough.

(He gets stuck around his ankles, because he didn’t take his shoes off, and Zhenya  _laughs_ before he can help, still chuckling a little even as Sid settles down on his knees, spread over his pillows.

That shuts Zhenya up.)

* * *

Sid’s always wanted Zhenya to eat him out, and Sid  _gets it_ . Zhenya’s mouth is ridiculous  _all of the time_  but now, it’s just - Sid can’t even talk anymore, just sends feelings and sensations.

Zhenya’s tongue is thick and lush and he knows how to use it, how to get Sid wet and filthy and slick; how to curl his tongue  _just right_  and get Sid to nearly beg for more.

When Zhenya straightens up, pulls his cheeks apart, and spits on his hole, Sid can’t help the broken noise that punches out of his chest.

_Dirty,_  Zhenya hums,  _and you’re mine_.

He does it again, because he’s a  _fucker_ , and Sid loves him with everything he has.

Sid knows that he’s going to have stubble burn all over his thighs, all over his ass, up his back, and  _fuck_ , he loves that he’s going to go home with this reminder of Zhenya all over him.

_Stay_ , Zhenya whispers,  _stay here. Stay here with me, until it’s all over._

It makes Sid quake and push back into Zhenya’s hands, moan high in his throat and tear at the sheets with his fingers.

_Stay and be with me, until it’s time to go back to Pittsburgh. You can still attend the meetings - teleconference - but stay with me_.

"Yes," he sobs, and the feedback loop he gets from Zhenya - Zhenya feeling his pleasure, feeling his own through Zhenya, feeling Zhenya’s pleasure - is too much, too quick, and Zhenya barely gets a finger inside him before Sid’s coming.

It’s so good it’s almost painful, and Sid can’t talk, can’t breathe, can’t think, just  _feel_ , how he can feel himself and feel Zhenya, feel everything and nothing all at once, pain/pleasure/need/completion.

"Sid," Zhenya’s saying, "Sid, Sid," like his name’s a mantra to be used to invoke something, what, Sid doesn't know. He can feel Zhenya’s want like a dim pressure in the back of his mind, like a headache that isn’t painful.

He loves that.  _I love you_ , he says.

_Ya tak tebya lyublyu,_  Zhenya returns, and Sid is all pink and red and orange in his mind. Zhenya shows him how he looks, sweaty and red, spread out on his sheets, ass and thighs burning up, spit all over.

_Gonna fuck me?_

Zhenya shudders out a breath and Sid lets out a little moan when he presses forward, sliding his dick between his ass cheeks like it helps stave off his orgasm.

_I want you to_ , Sid murmurs and reaches back for Zhenya’s hand, smiling when their fingers link.  _I want to feel you fill me up, stretch me out, make me yours like I should be. I want your cock so deep in me I can taste it._

"Fuck," Zhenya spits, ruts upward, head of his dick catching on Sid’s hole, "fucking  _filthy_ , Sidney, I  _knew_  it.”

"Yours," Sid hums, cants his hips up a little and smiles when Zhenya groans and thumbs over the dimples in his back.

Zhenya leans forward, plastering himself all along Sid’s back, and he’s heavy and warm and Sid doesn’t even  _care_  that he’s getting covered in his own come. He knows that Zhenya’s getting the lube, no condoms, knows that Zhenya’s made sure that he’s gotten the same brand that Sid has at home, because it’s his favorite, because it’s slick without being sticky.

"Get you loose," Zhenya grunts, "then gonna fuck you until you cry."

"Prove it," Sid says, and laughs when Zhenya feels like pure indignation, when Zhenya punctuates the feeling with a slap on the ass.

* * *

He does, and Sid doesn’t quite know what he expected.

The headboard of the bed is knocking against the wall, and Sid is grateful that the other side is just Zhenya’s bathroom and not another apartment.

He doesn’t know when he started crying, he really, really doesn't, but by the time that Zhenya’s finger-fucked him until he was loose enough and then fucked right into him without pause he knows he was close to tears. He knows that he was making little broken noises on every thrust, but it’s only when he’s getting  _really_  fucked - Zhenya’s hips slamming against him, sweat dripping down his back, fingers clenched in the sheets - that he realizes he’s  _sobbing_.

_Okay, Sid?_

“ _Da_ ,” he sobs, “ _da_ , yes, yes, ‘m  _fine_ , don’t  _stop_.”

The noise that Zhenya makes is both broken and full of wonder, and he curls an arm around Sid’s waist to pull him up and back and the hit on his prostate makes him  _wail_ , unsuspecting, and can feel Zhenya grinning, pleased with himself.

_You’re going to come on my cock_ , Zhenya says, and Sid knows that he will, that Zhenya will make good on his promise of  _wrecking_  him and then putting him back together again.

He doesn't know how long it takes, how much longer Zhenya fucks him, but he knows that he’s collapsed on the sheets, Zhenya holding the both of them up. He knows that on every inward thrust, Zhenya punches little noises out of his chest, noises of pure pleasure and contentment.

When Zhenya leans down, first presses a kiss to his shoulder, then sinks his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, Sid comes, and takes Zhenya with him.

* * *

Zhenya cleans them up, changes the sheets, gets them back into bed with a glass of water each.

Sid roams around his head, poking and prodding at Zhenya’s mind, content and pleased.

Sid snuggles into his side, presses a kiss to Zhenya’s chest.

"I’m going to stay with you," he says, softly, voice hoarse and tired. "It’s not - it’s not my battle to fight. Not really. I’ve made my point. I’d rather be here, with you. And Sasha."

Zhenya grins and rolls him over to slant kisses across his face.

* * *

_I hope you’re happy,_  Sasha grumbles in the morning,  _you didn't have your shields up **at**_ _ **all**_.

Sid laughs so hard into his tea that Zhenya has to smack him on the back.

He loves his life, his bondmates, and everything about them.

 

**Author's Note:**

>  _Ya tak tebya lyublyu_ \- I love you so much.  
>  _Mne khorosho_ \- I feel good.  
>  _Mne khorosho, ryadom s toboy._ \- I feel good, with you.


End file.
